Real men aren’t triggered
“Oh a tough guy,” he says, encapsulated by the white family walking briskly through the mall. “Hey sissy!” he calls and my guts churn a response: fire, the burn, then humor, followed by laughter.
I agree it’s tough to confidently wear a lavender beanie in Boys’ Clubs and it’s confusing to me that real men are threatened so easily.
“Are you a real man?” I consider asking as I reimagine the encounter. He’s upset and flustered. “Real men aren’t triggered by sissies.” I know he hates triggers and warnings so I keep walking, hips moving an absurd smile anticipating our next encounter.
He was standing there at the toy store checkout counter, arms folded standing silently and stoically emasculated by children’s play/things.
I am buying a flying grasshopper and a realistic plastic ram, sea turtle, and lizard.
I approach the man behind the counter who said he could help me and he frowns, eyes narrowing. The real man next to me inhales sharply glancing at my purchases, brows raising and sighing as I release a quiet giggle he folds his arms, spins around like a drama kid/queen, huffing as my smirk shines undeniably amused by absurdity.
He unfolds hairy muscled arms covered by turquoise tracksuit and spins back around as I hand my debit…
